Hotch's 5 Stages
by skye-hunter
Summary: Hotch, specifically goes through the five stages of grief according to Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her 1969 book, On Death and Dying after his attack. ...And there's a slight romance angle as well.
1. Hotch's Denial

Author's Note: Hotch, specifically goes through the five stages of grief (according to Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her 1969 book, On Death and Dying) after his attack...spoilers for Season 5. This first chapter, _Hotch's Denial_, is the same as in my 5 Stages story so, if you've read that, feel free to skip this chapter, haha! The rest of the chapters, though, will be totally new!

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"The truth that makes men free is for the most part the truth which men prefer not to hear" ~ Herbert Agar.

***

Whenever asked Hotch would say he was fine. Even when he'd jumped, spilling his coffee over the counter, the time Reid approached him from behind while attempting to reach his mug in the mini-kitchen. Even when caught by JJ passed out on his desk as she came in the morning after everyone was to go home. Hotch even claimed he was fine when he'd actually lost his place in the midst of giving a profile, thinking he'd seen Foyet just outside the police station window.

Prentiss had asked him once or twice what happened, but he could only answer with the blank response, "He got the upper hand, he stabbed me, then I blacked out." After all nothing else about that event really seemed real to Hotch, nothing else about it left the undeniable scars now scattered about his body. Rossi never asked, a fact Hotch first found odd but then grew to understand…Rossi didn't have to ask, he'd been around victims long enough to read them like a book. Hotch supposed he should just be grateful Rossi hadn't called him out on anything yet.

For the third week since being released from the hospital Hotch was planning to sleep in the office. He'd already made preparations to put his apartment up for sale but, in the current real estate market, he wasn't ready to make it official until he had a new place, far from the old, set to move into. The lights in other offices were off, as were most in the bullpen, and Hotch found, as he prepared to leave his office and cross it to get to the mini-kitchen for his late night cup of coffee, he was nervous. Scared even. There were too many shadows, too many good places for a man with Foyet's slender body to hide. Then he watched in shock as lights about the bullpen began to flicker back on, leaving a path of safe travel to the kitchen. "Hello?" He voice came out stern…except for that underlying shakiness of his nerves betraying him.

"Just me," Morgan called out, raising his hand up so Hotch could pinpoint him in the vast field of desks and chairs, "I thought you could use the light."

"I'm fine," Hotch knee-jerked before looking down a little in slight embarrassment that those two words were the first he could even think of these days and recall a more suitable response. When he had one he looked back over to his fellow agent, "Thank you."

Morgan smiled some and began to head closer to the stairs leading up to where Hotch stood, gripping the railings of the balcony, "Hey, uh, you need any help? You know with paperwork or something? I'm guessing you're pretty backed up on that." The days in the hospital, the days recovering at home, the days of distraction.

Hotch shook his head some, "No, that's alright," He knew the offer to help was a cover…Morgan didn't even like doing his own paperwork! He wondered if Rossi put him to it somehow? Or did Morgan now think that little of him, so little of his boss that he suspected the man scared of his own shadow. Then again, he was, wasn't he? "I can handle this," he added, then froze, "it…the paperwork, I mean. It's nothing I can't handle on my own."

"I always felt that way too," Morgan replied as he began to almost cautiously head up the stairs. He was taking a big risk doing this, bringing up those things that never should be brought up. "I was wrong though and it took my getting arrested for a series of crimes I never could've even committed for me to see that."

Hands slipped from the railing fast, as if the metal burned suddenly, and Hotch straightened up as his colleague climbed the steps towards him. "It's not the same thing," Hotch replied in an almost panic.

Morgan stopped at the top of the stairs, giving his boss more than enough room, "Look, I don't know what happened with you and…" he paused as his boss and friend grew so tense he thought the guy might start shaking, "him and I'm not gonna pretend that I do. But the more you stuff that memory down the worse it's gonna be when we have to dig it up to add to the guy's profile."

"The…the profile's wrong," Hotch stated with a resigned sadness, "My profile of him was wrong and that…" that's why this happened to him, to his family, all this pain came because he'd been wrong.

Morgan shook his head, "No, Hotch, the profile changed, that's all. It's happened before and it'll happen again. So we do what we always do, reexamine the crimes and adjust the profile." He then slowly moved closer until he was caught in the light from Hotch's office and his eyes showed him a man holding in way too much pain for anyone's own good. "The only thing that gives him power now is you holding onto his little secret."

"His?" Hotch questioned, legitimately confused.

"Right," Morgan said firmly, "Because he's the only one that should ever be ashamed by what happened."

The agent, the team leader, the man who was always in charge of everything blinked a few times, then backed away into the shadow some. For a moment Morgan worried he'd pushed too hard and Hotch was going to slip away into his office, but he didn't. Instead the senior agent hit the wall by the doorframe and slid down, tiny particles of his clothing rubbing the scars as if to remind Hotch what he could never forget. "I'm sure that's easy for you to say, but –"

"No, it's not," Morgan cut the other man off as he went to settle against the railing on the other side of the lit office. Though facing each other both men's faces, their body's, stayed in the shadows and hidden from sight. While he hadn't been in a church all those years from his childhood until Garcia was shot Morgan could feel a confessional atmosphere form between them. "From the moment Carl Buford came into my life, from the moment he, uh…he started…" even now, years later and in the darkness where his emotions on his face could be hidden, the man found it hard to speak of out loud, "I felt so…ashamed and…weak and…and…"

"Dirty," Hotch finished the thought in nothing more than a breath before taking in so much air his lungs hurt, "Violated." He let the air out and, even though he couldn't make out Morgan's face, he looked down some, focusing on his knees as they curled up towards his chest as if to protect him farther, "I can…remember every inch of that knife…and the…the weight of…him…on me. The, uh, the first two thrusts were fast, furious, brutal. The one's that came after though…" the agent had to stop to remind himself to breath and leaned his head back against the wall to keep tears from escaping now watery eyes, "they were slow, purposeful…he spoke the whole time…"

Morgan sat silently, without judgment, as the light in Hotch's office caught the water now spilling from the man's eyes while words spilled from his mouth.


	2. Hotch's Anger

Author's Note: Hotch, specifically goes through the five stages of grief (according to Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her 1969 book, On Death and Dying) after his attack...spoilers for Season 5. This is the start of all new chapters of which there will be 5, one for each stage. ...Comments, naturally, are much appreciated. :D

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"Anyone can become angry – that is easy, but to be angry with the right person, to the right degree, at the right time, for the right purpose, and in the right way – that is not easy" ~ Aristotle

***

He'd confessed all to Morgan, a man he figured might understand better than the others, and that was supposed to make things better…but it didn't. It made things worse. Now that he allowed himself to think about the attack it just made him angry…simply infuriated him…but he hadn't quite decided what, exactly, pissed him off the most. Shaunessy seemed a good candidate for taking that damned deal in the first place, the one that sent Hotch away and ten years behind the trail of Foyet. Naturally he was furious at Foyet, what he'd done and how much it pleased him to do it, and the nature of a world that could form such a creature into being. Though as he looked now in the mirror after his shower and saw the scars, black and red with stitches and rawness, he felt a rage build with himself. He'd been so easily fooled and blindsided by an UNSUB…again! He became a victim in his own home and allowed a killer to take those things that were most important to him – his family, his son, and his pride.

A near overwhelming urge to smash the bathroom mirror was cut short by a knock at the door. Emily no doubt coming to pick him up for work, as if he didn't feel pathetic enough, he needed a chauffer to bring him around like he was some invalid. "Hold on!" He hollered as he headed out the bathroom to dress as quickly as his still healing body would allow, which wasn't fast enough as the knocks continued, followed by Prentiss calling out his name. He began to curse under his breath as he secured his belt a little to tight, pinching scarred skin some in the process. "What?!" He barked out when finally reaching and throwing open the door.

Emily froze at her boss's hostility, her cell still opened, half the digits dialed of Hotch's new number, "I…I'm sorry, sir," she shut the phone, "I didn't hear a reply and was a little…concerned." She was trying to regain her composure and choose her words carefully, reverting to safety in formalities – the use of sir.

"You're early," Hotch snipped, his displeasure still apparent in his tone.

"Yes, sir, I realize that but I got a call from JJ to come in early." She explained, noting that while in his suit Hotch was disheveled, the tips of his hair still damp. "She said she called you but didn't get an answer so left a message this morning." Another reason she'd been worried, the last time Hotch hadn't been answering his phone he was under attack.

The idea that he could've missed something as crucial as a phone call about a case caused Hotch to pause before he recalled the reason, "I was in the shower." Something that now took him twice the time having to clean each scar carefully, making sure to change bandages before and after and not to rub the skin around the stitches.

"I didn't know, sir." Emily replied simply, before giving a polite smile, "Are you ready or do you need more time?"

Rather than answer Hotch simply gave her a glare and turned back from the door to get the rest of his things, leaving Emily to catch the door and step into his place to wait for him. His movements were quick, but without the smoothness or even confidence he normally had. He snatched files and pill bottles (filled with pain meds and antibiotics) to stuff in his briefcase, grabbed his phone to jam into his pocket, and then his keys last before setting his alarm and moving to the door leaving his subordinate to follow behind hurriedly, silently.

Emily almost didn't want to drive Hotch back home he'd been so surly. Over the case he'd snapped at Garcia once, Morgan twice, and ignored Reid, still hobbling about in his cast, almost entirely. When he'd grown agitated at the local lead detective for not making a connection between older crimes Rossi pulled him aside and the men argued quite a bit until Hotch stormed off. Even JJ had a run in with the unpleasant team leader when she went to remind him that while, yes, the press could be part of the problem, they can also be part of the solution and so playing nice with them would be beneficial…an opinion she shared at the price of a particularly nasty glare from Hotch and the order to "stick to your job". …And yet here Emily was, escorting her tense, and intense, boss to his front door.

It wasn't an overly hard case, but then maybe that's what was so frustrating about it. All Hotch could think about was how his team was wasting their valuable time and resources on what should be a no-brainer of a case. The local police were just inept hillbillies; if any of them had half a brain in their head the BAU wouldn't be solving their cases for them. There was also another great irritant throughout the day – his scars. They itched and almost burned at times but, of course, Hotch couldn't very well scratch them while on the job. Though he did rub them as discreetly as possible whenever able, including as he first went to disarm the alarm and then set his briefcase on his table. "Thank you for the ride, Prentiss," he said with utmost formality but a hint of edge to his words, "you may leave now." The last words came sternly, almost forcefully.

The female agent didn't move as she debated whether or not to risk her boss's wrath in order to try and get through to him. The others hadn't faired well at all but that was during the case, the case was over now; the others weren't around for Hotch to worry about what they might think and the formalities of the office didn't exist in the private home…at least that's what Emily hoped for. "Hotch, are…"

"Dismissed!" Hotch barked at her with an almost seething rage. It wasn't at her directly, he hadn't even turned around to face her, but his subordinate just happened to be the last straw at a point and place where he felt he could let out all the building anger he felt he'd pent up on the case. He listened for her to leave but there was no sound at all behind him. Maybe she'd slipped out? He turned slowly and his heart sank some at the sight before him.

She'd jumped at the order, it was just so unlike Hotch. She'd seen him angry before, of course, and even yelling as they worked interrogations together but this was different and not just because it'd been directed at her. It was frightening because it was a chaotic darkness she never thought Hotch could have. She bowed her head some so when he turned she wouldn't have to come face to face with the glare she knew had to come with that tone and, when he seemed to move towards her, she stepped back some. "I'm sorry, sir, I'll leave you alone now."

Hotch recognized that face from his childhood. Emily was scared. She was scared of him. He sighed and looked down, ashamed, "No, please, don't," he said softly, taking another step towards her before looking up, "I'm sorry, Emily," he used her first name, spoke softly, "You don't deserve to be treated with such hostility…neither does the rest of the team."

"Do you, maybe, want to talk about it some?" Emily offered tentatively.

"No, not just now," Hotch said with a slight shake of his head before keying in his eyes, now full of gentle concern, on hers, "But maybe later?" Again his hand slid down his side to rub a scar, but this time his muscles seized and his face twisted as fabric caught on a stitch and pulled painfully…so painfully he moved to grip the table nearby as he was doubled over by the sensation.

Emily moved swiftly to her superior's side, taking his arm to help keep him somewhat upright "Are you okay?"

Hotch nodded some in silence before taking a deep breath, "I just caught a stitch, I think," He slowly rose again, trying to smooth out his face some to lessen the worry of the woman beside him, "I'll be fine." He smiled a little as he found he wasn't angry anymore, as he found Emily's presence and concern comforting.

"May…may I make a suggestion, sir?" Emily asked, starting to step back, not wanting to crowd him.

"You may," Hotch replied before his smile grew some as he was able to stand up straight once more, the once sharp pain now just a dull ache, "but only if you go back to calling me Hotch, please."

"Aloe Vera," Emily stated simply, then elaborated, "it's natural, very soothing to irritated skin, helps prevent infection, and scientifically proven to help scars heal faster."

Hotch stared blankly for a moment, not sure what to make of the information, then spoke, "You know you sound like Reid." He gave the faintest hint of a smile to indicate he was joking.

Emily's face flushed a bit as she smiled what she felt was way too much in reply, "Yeah, I'm a nerd."

"You're in good company," he stated simply as he remembered his eternal childhood search for that 1958 nickel he never did find.


	3. Hotch's Bargaining

Author's Note: Hotch, specifically goes through the five stages of grief (according to Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her 1969 book, On Death and Dying) after his attack...spoilers for Season 5. This is the 3rd stage.

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"Regrets and recriminations only hurt your soul" ~ Armand Hammer

***

Hotch sat in his office watching old video footage of Jack in contemplative silence. Had he done the right things? Was there anything he should've done differently? Anything that could've kept his son with him in some way? Or bring his son back to him now? The questions haunted him every day now and, as his scars healed (aloe vera, who'd have thought?), the questions grew more urgent in his mind as the desire to be with his son did. The only thing that was finally able to pull the agent from his thoughts was a crash outside the office. He got up and headed to stick his head out of his office to investigate.

There was Reid, a virtual comedy of errors in his cast, bag slung over his shoulder, trying to maneuver his way up the stairs with his crutches sliding down to the bottom of the steps. Despite muttering small curses under his breath as he clung to the railing, clearly having favored in over his crutches during the near-spill, the youthful profiler seemed nevertheless in good spirits.

"I thought they were supposed to teach you how to use those crutches on stairs before releasing you," Hotch commented in a way that only those who knew him best knew would be teasing as he headed over to the stairs.

Reid smiled some as he gained his balance enough to spilt his attention between not falling and Hotch, "They did I just…I'm not very good at it." He gave a small laugh before nearly loosing his balance again.

"If you want I could carry you up the stairs," Hotch offered with a hint of a smirk, obviously joking.

"Um…maybe just a hand? Please?" Reid asked, honestly a little too nervous to try it alone again.

Hotch nodded and went down the steps to Reid before taking hold of Reid's arm securely and letting the man shift some his weight onto him as they made their to the top of the stairs. "Can I trust you not to tip backwards while I get your crutches?" He asked as Reid settled back against the wall.

"Yeah, I'm good now…at least until I have to head back down anyway," Reid laughed a little; it'd certainly be another adventure.

Hotch nodded with a smile before going back down to grab the crutches and then hand them over to Reid upon returning. "So, what are you doing here so early?"

"Same as you is my guess," Reid replied, situating his crutches back in their most helpful place, under his arms, "Catching up on paperwork. I, uh, tried while in Garcia's office but there are too many distractions."

"You mean too many computer games readily available," Hotch said with a sly look as he began to walk back to his office already knowing he'd likely rewind the video of Jack back to the beginning to gain the full effect.

Reid followed to the doorway before pausing to try and listen to what was playing inside, "Is, uh…Is that Jack I hear?"

Hotch smiled a brief moment at even hearing his son's name, but just as quickly as it came it faded away, "Old home movies Haley sent me from awhile back, I finally got them all uploaded to my computer. They, uh…they're all I have so…" Hotch just shrugged before sighing as he walked into his office, "Would you like to come in?"

"And watch the videos?" Reid asked curiously. It just seemed like such a private thing to be a part of and he didn't want to intrude.

"To talk," Hotch replied, standing aside and holding the door open for Reid to make his way in, before giving a wary look, "unless you have too much work to catch up on."

Reid shook his head with a smile, "No, not too much." He certainly wasn't going to turn down a chance to talk to Hotch…not only was the man his boss and his friend but also someone who'd helped him through so much in past. Reid considered it something of an honor to even be asked; and that is how Reid saw this, a request for support. Maybe it wasn't obvious, maybe it'd never be admitted by either party, but Hotch was inviting him into the office without even the pretense of work.

For a while the two men chatted about, well, safe topics…paperwork and the weather. Then there was a small period in which they said nothing before Hotch suddenly spoke, "Do you think I made the right choice?"

"Excuse me," Reid questioned, tilting his head to the side some as if that would help to clarify things.

"In making the deal," Hotch explained, his eyes watching Reid for any indications on what the man's gut response was. While he didn't think Reid would outright lie to him he imagined the junior agent might sugarcoat things some, not in the least because Hotch was his boss.

Reid shifted in his chair some, trying to find some comfort from the chair that he couldn't from the change in topic. He knew Hotch had to be double guessing his decisions concerning Foyet, each and every one from the very first moment the BAU was called in on the case all those years ago, but he never expected Hotch to go to him with those concerns. "Well…you didn't really have a choice, did you?"

Hotch gave a confused look, though his tone was somewhat challenging, "I didn't?"

"No. No, not, uh…not unless you wanted Foyet to win."

"All I can think is that he did anyway," Hotch said a little sadly, looking over at the black screen of his now sleeping computer. "At least if I'd made the deal I'd still have my son and Haley would still be safe."

Reid frowned a little knowing it was possible Hotch was right, if he'd taken the deal Jack and Haley wouldn't have been put in danger. Then he found a reasonable argument, "You also wouldn't ever have been able to forgive yourself for letting an UNSUB dictate how this team is run," his lips curled into a small smile, "Only you get to do that."

Hotch smiled the tiniest bit before his thoughtful frown returned, "Do you think my not taking the deal was a matter of pride?" Rossi certainly seemed to think so from the talks the two men had privately had; like the one just after Foyet slaughtered all those people on the bus.

"More like a matter of strength," Reid replied, "You're too strong to let some psycho push you or anyone on the team around."

"How do…" Hotch started, then stopped as he thought about what, exactly, he wanted to ask, "How do you live with the choices you've made? With the Henkel case, for example." The fact that Reid had been made to choose people to die; had been made to, presumably, choose a team member to die. True the last Reid used to his greatest advantage, giving the team a way to find him, but still a choice had been made.

Reid bit his bottom lip thoughtfully, not only did he want to give a helpful answer but an honest one. "Well…the fact I literally had a gun to my head helps," he confessed with a small smile before growing serious again, "I try to consider what would've happened if I choose differently and, uh, how badly that could've ended. I also remind myself that I was put into an impossible situation, no outcome would've been very good in the end but…I'm alive, the team is alive, and that…that's a win."

The senior agent's face stayed a mask for a few moments, long enough it would seem nothing Reid said even registered, but then the man spoke, "I'd like a win." The tone was somehow both melancholy and hopeful at once.

"You get them all the time, Hotch, every time we stop an UNSUB," Reid reassured him, "just because you haven't had your win with Foyet doesn't mean he's had his win either. But, if you'd taken that deal, Foyet would've won. Just like if you let your choice eat at you like Shaunessy let his eat him." Reid then gave a small shrug, "With the Foyet case it's a marathon, not a sprint, so the best we can do, all of us, is keep going and never quit."

Hotch opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped and smiled wide as something behind Reid caught his attention, "Emily…uh," he silently cursed himself for greeting his fellow agent with such familiarity within the workplace (and with another agent right there!), "Agent Prentiss," he overcompensated, his smile stripped from his face, "I thought you were going to have breakfast with JJ?" Even though it was likely that Hotch could handle a car just fine on his own now Emily still drove him to and from work, even when Hotch imagined it put her at an inconvenience (like today when she could've caught up on sleep instead). He wouldn't admit it even to himself but he now looked forward to those rides with his coworker more than any other time he traveled.

Emily smiled some, "I did," she then glanced down at Reid to smile politely before growing more professional herself, "JJ's calling the others in now for a briefing on a case in Orlando we'll be working on."

Reid, who'd smiled a greeting to Emily, turned back to Hotch, "Ready for a win?"

Hotch's stiff demeanor slipped into a relaxed business one as he smiled faintly, "I need it." And he really did. He couldn't change the past and he wouldn't get his win from Foyet anytime soon. Like his young team member said, his battle with Foyet was a marathon and all Hotch could do now was keep going.

"Then let's go get it," Reid said as he worked his way back into a standing position with his crutches and started to head out of Hotch's office.

Emily stayed behind to wait for Hotch to straighten up and grab his briefcase to bring into the conference room. The two agents shared a brief, private, smile, but said nothing as Morgan and Rossi's arrival were announced by their somewhat heated exchange over where the best club in Orlando really was (clearly the two had gotten the message of where they were headed) from the bullpen below.


	4. Hotch's Depression

Author's Note: Hotch, specifically goes through the five stages of grief (according to Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her 1969 book, On Death and Dying) after his attack...spoilers for Season 5. This is the 4th stage.

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"What we call despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope" ~ George Eliot

***

It was his birthday today, a day generally loathed by the agent. It wasn't that he was turning a year older or anything, he wasn't ever that vain, but his track record for birthdays was poor at best. When he was five he was disallowed opening his presents until his father came home…the man didn't until the next morning when husband and wife were too busy fighting each other to even remember the small boy. In fifth grade, when his dad gave him a collection of rare buffalo nickels, his mother ended up throwing them all out because young Aaron suggested that his father really did, maybe, have an emergency meeting he had to go to. Turning 12 was done in the emergency room after he dared tell his mother that he'd rather spend time with the few friends he had than watch her rage grow waiting for his father to get home – the official report says he fell down the stairs after tripping over a toy left out by his baby brother. By the time he turned 18 Aaron was watching his little brother while his father battled cancer in the hospital and his mother seemed to busy herself with lawyers to ensure she'd gain the most money possible off her husband's imminent demise…after all, who would support her once he was gone?

Maybe Hotch had been crazy to be hopeful that this birthday would be any different; but, for some time after his talk with Reid, Hotch had felt his spirits lifted and renewed so he thought, just maybe, he could keep that feeling long enough to last through his birthday. Sadly as days turned to weeks and losses racked up, lessening the power of his wins, the agent felt himself slipping. He'd watched the videos of his son, even the few the US marshals generously shared with him, to where he could replay them in his head over and over. Yet these little treasures simply didn't work to soothe the longing for his son anymore and Hotch's desire to speak to Jack, to tell his son he loved him and hear the boy say it back, grew immeasurably painful. And now Hotch would be "celebrating" his birthday without the only thing that mattered anymore…his son.

Hotch had heard the knocks on the door but ignored them not wanting to face the world today, not without knowing it wouldn't be another disappointment. The knocks grew louder and he turned in his bed to cover his head with an extra pillow before he sighed defeatedly when his cell phone began to ring. He nearly ignored it but his sense of duty forced him to search it out in case it was work. "'Ello?" he muttered nearly devoid of emotion.

"Hotch, sir, it's Emily," the distinctly worried female voice replied, "are you okay? I'm…I'm in the hall; I've been knocking on the door for the past 17 minutes. Are you alright?"

The senior agent almost smiled at the preciseness of the time given, he'd confess there were times lately he intentionally asked Agent Prentiss about the time just to see if she'd ever round the numbers…she never did and something about that always made him want to smile. So did the fact that, even with her obvious concern, she remained professional and, if he sent her away, he was confident she wouldn't press him or make him feel guilty about it. "I'm fine," he replied drowsily, "just slept in I guess. Give me a moment and I'll come get you…the door, I mean. Just…give me a moment…" Hotch repeated before disconnecting the line. He then slowly, reluctantly, got up and threw on the first things he could find. He worked his way out of his room, down the hall, and to the main room to disable the alarm before unlocking and opening the door to see Emily in the midst of fixing her hair.

"Sir," she greeted him, quickly dropping her hands to cup them together in front of her, before his appearance actually registered. "Sir? …Hotch…are you sure you're alright?" He didn't look it; sallow skin, bags under the eyes, unshaven with unkempt hair, and a slight smell to him that indicated he hadn't showered, but certainly enjoyed some liquor, in the past few days the team had been given off…and all that was aside from the stained tee-shirt and sweat pants she was, until this moment, sure wouldn't ever have been owned by a man like her boss.

"I'm sure," Hotch confirmed, though his face remained rather blank, his eyes distant, before he added, "I just overslept is all. If you give me a few moments I'll be ready in no time," he continued as he stood aside to let Emily in.

As the fellow profiler stepped into the apartment it took some effort to keep her jaw from dropping…the place was a disaster, not just for Hotch but for any human being. (She now understood why, for the past few weeks, Hotch had suggested she call ahead of time and allow him to meet her downstairs…she'd thought he was slowly trying to regain his independence, not hide an extreme laxness in caring for his home.) His laptop was open on the coffee table surrounded by a number of different pictures of Jack, an empty bottle of scotch, and a few glasses, each one bigger than the next. All the blinds were shut – they were usually half-opened by the time she arrived. The only thing that wasn't disturbed was what she thought most certainly would be; the orderly pile of boxes containing Foyet's files. Had her boss relaxed his obsessive search for the man or simply given up? Her best guess from the overall state of things was the latter, a thought that both troubled and saddened her. When she felt Hotch looking at her she turned to smile at him politely, "Then how about you do that and I'll make us some coffee?" She offered, already calculating how much she'd be able to clean while the man showered.

Hotch nodded and headed to relock the door before pausing and then looking back at his coworker curiously, "Did we get called in on a case?" He didn't recall the phone ringing prior to Emily, no suggestion that they might've, so he wondered suddenly why Emily had appeared at his place, his front door, without calling ahead of time which she traditionally did unless there wasn't time due to them being suddenly called in on a case.

Emily plastered a smile so firmly on her face that it twitched slightly with nerves, "No…" she said as her mind worked to crank out an honest answer that would both get Hotch to go along with her requests but also didn't reveal everything about what had been planned for the day, "but…everyone's waiting for you at the office." She knew Hotch wasn't one to leave his team to wait whether it was for work or not.

"Why?" The profiler looked warily at the woman before him as she clearly tried to hide something, "Not a party?" The last thing he could handle was a room full people he'd have to force a smile for. Emily's avoidance of eye contact answered for her and his face fell in utter disappointment, "Emily, I…" he sighed and moved to sit on his couch and, elbows on his knees, put his face in his hands, "I don't want to celebrate today, I just want to get through it…alone…without having to even acknowledge its existence."

Emily frowned, her lips tucking into themselves some, as she tentatively headed towards her boss. It was easier with people with whom she had an established relationship, whether it were lover, friend, coworker, or even agent speaking to a victim or witness…as long as she knew where she stood, how her words or actions would be taken so she could predict any potential fallout. With Hotch it was complicated, more than it should be. He was a friend, of course, but also a coworker, her superior…she would hug a friend, never a boss. When she reached his side Emily slowly sat down on the armrest beside him as if scared she might frighten him into shutting down completely. "Everyone should celebrate their birthday, it's the only day that's just for them," she encouraged softly.

"What is there to celebrate?" Hotch replied with a strangely desperate dullness into his hand before slowly looking up and over at Emily with freshly reddened eyes, "I appreciate the gesture, Emily, I really do, but I'd only serve as a depressant at my own party."

There was a spilt second Emily told herself not to, that it would confuse things terribly for both of them, but her need to comfort her seemingly broken friend overrode her more logical worries. She set her hand gently at his back and rubbed a small area of it as she smiled encouragingly, "I promise you, Hotch, you will have a good day. I can tell you don't believe me so I'm asking you, as a friend, to trust me. Can you?"

Under most circumstances the touch would've caused Hotch to stiffen, pull back, and otherwise shut down and ask Emily to leave. But at the moment it just…felt good. Comforting. Even pleasurable. Which was probably why he allowed it just past the point he started to feel a strange guilt at liking it so. Then he stood up, trying to ignore the feel of Emily's hand as it slipped down his back before being snapped away when it hit the start of the sweatpants the agent wore. "Fine," he replied, "Put some coffee on." He still didn't want to go, still didn't see how this day couldn't end in similar disappointments his previous birthdays had, but his coworker had asked him to do the one thing he would always do…trust her.

Once she was sure Hotch was in the shower, with the water running, Emily began to move swiftly about the apartment to both clean up and start the coffee. She threw out the empty liquor bottle and rinsed out the glasses. The only things she didn't touch were the photos of Jack, an act she worried would be considered too personal and thus an overstepping of her bounds. So, instead, she turned to preparing their coffees to each of their specific preferences…she had one sugar and one cream, always wanting a balance, while Hotch had a secret sweet tooth with three sugars and just one cream. She was trying to remember when details about her boss's personal inclinations concerning such things had entered into her brain so firmly she didn't even have to remind herself what he liked when the bathroom door reopened. She turned to ask him if he felt any better but a glimpse of bare skin and fabric reminded her that Hotch was likely in just his towel. She bit her tongue and became focused on the coffee as her face heated from more than just the steam of the heated liquid before her.

Hotch moved slowly and without the care he might normally take not to be seen without proper attire as he headed from the bathroom to his bedroom. While he wasn't overly picky about what he selected he was still headed into the offices and his natural instincts, who he was as a person, drew him in the direction of his closet of suits. Still working on his tie, but otherwise fully dressed, the agent emerged to settle at the now cleared, cleaned, table where his coworker had set their coffees. He didn't speak save to mutter a small thank you and only gave the tiniest smile of approval at the first sip of his coffee.

With Hotch's apparent state of mind lately Emily still considered this a victory.

Hotch was grateful that it was a rather small affair, consisting of only of the team, Kevin, Will, and little Henry, and that they allowed him to hang in the back and be relatively asocial after he first entered and thanked them for the party. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the efforts made – Garcia covering the room in streamers so bright they could be considered neon, Morgan hooking up his iPod to speakers for music (some of which Hotch didn't mind), Rossi ordering the food from a rather nice Italian eatery, Reid buying something only he could get away with, a Fudgey the Whale cake, and JJ clearly allowing Hotch to take possession of the infant Henry as a substitute for his own son – but none of it worked to get the man out of his melancholy funk. None of it was what he really wanted, the only thing that could bring him joy…being able to talk to Jack.

He was so detached from his own birthday party that he didn't even register most the goings-on after a while until Emily and JJ approached him. "Hotch, could I have Henry back, please?" JJ asked with a gentle smile, "Poor guy's probably tuckered out, I'd like to get him his nap away from the party if that's alright." She was already moving to scoop her son from Hotch's arms and into hers.

"Yes, sorry," Hotch replied simply, not quite giving up the already dozing child but not fighting him being taken either. He then looked to Emily; silently asking if it were all right to leave yet…all right to go back home, return to his sweats and his misery.

"There's one more gift for you," she commented, seeming to read his mind, "but it's in Garcia's office, would you like to see it?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really," Emily admitted with a sly sort of smile as she took Hotch's hand discreetly, looking around the room to be sure no one was watching. (Both because she was touching him, his hand, and because she didn't want the others to see her sneak him off and try and follow.) No one was.

Hotch followed obediently, almost like a robot, letting his team member lead him towards Garcia's office. It wasn't until just before they turned the corner that Emily let go and Hotch's face fell just a little more…he rather liked the feeling of his hand in Emily's, even if only subconsciously. Though when he saw Garcia standing outside the office he understood Emily's reasoning; neither would want there to seem like anything untoward was occurring.

Garcia's face was what caught the man's attention first, it was still as excited as it had been throughout the party but there was a hint at something more serious to it now as well. "Everything's set up, the lines will be connected and secure for little over five minutes, then the feed will cut out." She then smiled softly, "Just hit the enter key when you're ready." And with that the computer tech slipped past the two agents, her smile widening for Hotch, "Happy Birthday, BossMan."

Emily escorted Hotch into the office before he'd have a chance to ask questions or even form a hypothesis about what this gift was. "Okay, sir," she used the title to keep Hotch alert and listening carefully, "I'd like to remind you that, once open, those on the other line will be able to both see and hear you."

"I do still remember how these work," Hotch replied with a sideways glance at Emily before adding, "Thank you though," when he thought he might've been a little harsh considering all the effort she'd gone through to not make his birthday another living hell.

"Just hit enter whenever you're ready, I'll be right outside," Emily replied simply with a smile and nod before slipping out and into the hall. She could only hope that this gift, with all that went into making it happen, would have the desired affect…it was a big risk, one that could backfire and cause Hotch to grow furious with both her and Garcia.

The monitors in Garcia's office were all turned off save for the biggest, which was opened to a screen that was currently black. Hotch took a deep breath and hit the enter button on the main keyboard. The oversized screen lit up with the image of a nondescript living area with a small boy sitting on a couch. "Happy birthday, Daddy!" Little Jack shouted excitedly as he waved his hand rapidly, making it something a of a blur on the big screen, in an enthusiastic greeting.

The agent swore his heart stopped a full minute as he stared in utter shock at his son on the screen. He wanted to jump through the screen and snatch the boy up; hold him tight and never again let him go. Hotch felt his eyes well up so that even shifting his gaze caused water to stream out and down his cheeks, "Heh…" he had to look down and clear his throat in desperate attempts to regain control of himself before looking back up with an overjoyed smile and speaking, "Hey buddy, thank you." Hotch took note Haley wasn't there. It didn't bother him; in fact he found he preferred it at the moment, he only wanted to speak with, to see, his son.

"Welcome, Daddy," the boy said with a giggle, "How old are you today, Daddy? I'm four now."

"I'm older than that," Hotch answered with a chuckle before growing a little regretful as he sat in a chair before his now shaking knees gave way, "I'm sorry I missed your birthday, Jack."

The boy simply smiled more, "It's okay, I got your present. I liked it, I like fire trucks"

Hotch had to think for a moment about what his boy was saying then realized that Haley, or possibly one of the US marshals, must have given the boy a present and said it was from him. "I'm glad, I wasn't sure if you would."

"Yeah, I liked it, Daddy," the boy reassured his father, "And, um, ya know what?"

"What?"

"I miss you!" He giggled some as if he'd just completed a wonderful fake-out of sorts.

"I miss you too, big guy."

"Are we gonna see each other again soon?"

"Yeah, soon," Hotch said wishing he didn't, deep down, feel like he was lying to his boy.

"Maybe, when we do, we can go see the real fire trucks?" Jack offered excitedly, "And have a together party too."

"I'd like that."

Hotch exited the room ten minutes later; five to six for his son, the rest to express in private all those emotions he wouldn't allow himself in front of Jack and then recollect himself. He turned to Emily, standing by the door as if his own personal body guard, and spoke firmly, "If anything happens as a result of this you're going to be held personally responsible."

"Sir, I understand that, but…"

"I'm not finished," Hotch cut her off. His face had developed that same warning, mistrustful, glare it'd had when she first started working at the BAU. "If you so much as think about setting up anything even remotely like this again I'll fire you on the spot." Then the agent's lips began to move some to reveal the faintest hint at a smile, "Thank you." Then he did something wholly out of character for him, something he'd have never done under any other circumstances except this one in which words couldn't possibly express his gratitude for the gift of being able to see and speak with his son again after so long. Hotch leaned towards Emily, his teammate and a true friend, and pulled her in close and tight in a hug. "Thank you, Emily," he said softly, the strength of his voice wavering with another swell of emotion.

She hadn't been prepared for the hug at all…she'd expected Hotch to storm off after his lecture, or walk away after the thank you. But the hug, the feeling of her boss pulling her into his arms, was so strange, and strangely enjoyable, that her first instinct was to pull away. She didn't, she stiffened awkwardly instead not sure if hugging back would be a good idea or something both she and Hotch would view negatively in hindsight. Of course then she worried by not returning the hug would be worse, make Hotch think his show of gratitude, even the gratitude itself, was unwelcome, and so slipped her arms around him to return the gesture of closenss.

Almost the moment he felt Emily, his subordinate, wrap her arms around him Hotch's sense of duty and what was and wasn't appropriate came racing to the front of his mind and he pulled back. For a long moment he couldn't look her in the eye from his own disappointment at letting his feelings get the better of him, "I'm sorry," his voice's only strength came from his attempts at reestablishing formality.

"It's fine, sir," Emily assured him, attempting to dismiss the sudden awkwardness with a wave of her (now shaking) hand and smile.

Hotch was about to insist on the apology but decided instead to do something he rarely did…explain himself. "Growing up I…" he took a breath, finding it even harder to discuss than he'd expected, "well let's just say I never had much of a good experience on my birthday. Over time it became synonymous with disappointment, even as an adult." Like the first one he should've been able to celebrate with his then infant son and was called off on a case in Mexico…by the time he returned home his birthday was officially over as was any chance at enjoying some time alone with Haley.

"And now?"

"And now I can finally say I've had a birthday I really enjoyed," Hotch smiled, "one I'll remember fondly. I have you to thank for that…thank you, Emily."


	5. Hotch's Acceptance

Author's Note: Hotch, specifically goes through the five stages of grief (according to Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her 1969 book, On Death and Dying) after his attack...spoilers for Season 5. This is the 5th and last stage. ...Thank you to everyone who's left me kind comments on this story (or any my others recently, haha), it's meant a lot! :D

* * *

"Acceptance is not submission; it is acknowledgement of the facts of a situation. Then deciding what you're going to do about it." ~ Kathleen Casey Theisen

***

It would be wrong to say everything went back to normal after his birthday, it didn't. Hotch still missed his son, still wanted to catch Foyet more than any other UNSUB, and still had moments where he felt a little out of sorts. But he found as his scars faded into faint lines over his body so did those emotions that'd been so strong he couldn't control. He allowed himself the proper hours of sleep when able and allotted his free time between working on Foyet's case and taking care of himself in a far healthier manner now. While the agent doubted things would ever go back to normal, in fact he know logically it couldn't, he remained constantly striving towards moving on, moving ahead. He would not permit Foyet or any other UNSUB to dictate his behavior, mood, or self-worth again.

Despite these efforts in moving on Hotch still hung onto some of the traditions that'd been developed in his recovery time…like locking and bolting his door, setting his alarm before leaving and once reentering his apartment, and checking both security measures once more before going to bed. All he felt were just good, solid, efforts to stay safe. But there was just one tradition that caused Hotch to worry some…allowing Emily to continue to drive him back and forth between work and home. He knew that holding to this tradition had nothing to do with any after effects of Foyet's attack, and that was where his concern entered. Hotch clung to this tradition out of pure enjoyment of it…pure enjoyment of having that private time with Emily. And that was why, as he prepared for Emily to arrive to pick him up he made an executive decision, one based on what was appropriate not some ridiculous teen feelings or whatever it was that kept this now unnecessary arrangement going.

"I think, as of tomorrow, I should drive myself to and from work," the senior agent stated once the drive began with the same formality he used while on the job…and one he hadn't used in the car rides with Emily since the very beginning.

The suddenness of the statement and its accompanying sternness threw Emily so much she took her eyes off the road and turned her head to look at him in utter confusion. "Did I…" she tucked her bottom lip in a moment before turning her attention back to driving, taking a deep, calming, breath, and starting over, "Did I do something wrong, sir?" She only used the title because of his formality with her.

"No, not at all," Hotch reassured her…or he would have if his voice wasn't so stiff. "I just think that it's time I return to driving myself. You understand." She had to because he couldn't possibly explain it.

Emily nodded some, "Of course." It was simple; he didn't need her anymore and so was moving on as it were. It happened frequently in her life, with everyone from boyfriends to her own mother. She was only meant to belong anywhere for a limited amount of time and her time in Hotch's personal company had expired. What she wanted, the fact she enjoyed her drives with Hotch by her side, didn't even factor into it…it never did.

The rest of the ride was done in tense silence as the two wrestled with their respective worries about the situation. Hotch wondered if, maybe, he should explain, but being unable to even recognize an appropriate starting point he didn't. Emily stayed silent as she held control over her urge to let Hotch how much it hurt to be so easily tossed aside by him.

At the office Emily immediately went to the ladies' room to compose herself and then remained professionally cold at the debriefing, sitting as far from Hotch as the round table would allow. She knew it could be taken as pettiness by Hotch but that wasn't her intent, it was simply a matter of self-preservation. If her boss was going to pull away from her, from what she'd felt was the friendship they'd developed over the months, it'd be unwise to make it difficult for both of them.

On the plane she sat in the back like she had when she'd first started on the team and throughout the case she stood by others on the team in attempts to get partnered with them rather than with Hotch like she had in the recent past. She was rather unsuccessful in her attempts though as Hotch seemed to bring her with him everywhere only to remain professional to the point of aloofness the majority of the time. When he did let some form of smile show in her direction it quickly became a frown when returned…to say Hotch's contradictory behavior was confusing for the female profiler would've been a vast understatement.

The confusion caused to his female employee wasn't intentional; Hotch simply didn't know how to behave anymore. For him every single thing he did around Emily seemed suddenly inappropriate and open to misinterpretation, which was something he welcomed or feared depending on a number of factors. He wanted her friendship, he valued that, but equals parts of him wanted more than that and to also maintain his professional appearance and he was unable to find the balance…if there even was such a balance to be found.

The case, a kidnapping in Wyoming, ended a success – UNSUBs caught, child returned safely home, and while the team guessed the whole family would need some therapy there was no indication of long-lasting damage if the proper help was sought out. The only downside to the whole thing was the weather that, in the end, grounded their plane for the night. Though the news began with groans of disappointment Rossi quickly found a way to turn most of them into smiles of acceptance to the situation by suggesting a small club he was aware still existed that he'd visited back when he was first in the BAU.

Morgan, like always, almost immediately hit the dance floor bringing Emily with him since he thought she could afford some cheering up…though he hadn't a clue why she was so unhappy considering the success of the case. JJ, unable to find an available dartboard, went to the next best thing she could find in a pool table. Reid followed JJ but chose to sit out on actually playing with the claims that his coordination was poor enough without the limping he did as he learned to adjust from his crutches to a cane. Hotch and Rossi both bellied up to the bar, as it were, and ordered some drinks, each sitting at the corner so the conversation would be that much easier. Except for one little problem…

"You know I'm starting to feel a little ignored at the moment," Rossi commented with a slight smirk before looking behind his shoulder to the dance floor, then back at his colleague, "what is it that has your attention more than my old war stories?"

Hotch had been both watching and trying not to watch Emily as she danced with Morgan. When she smiled he felt his own lips move in effort to copy the expression, but then slip as the wish to be the one making her smile crept up and the guilt at having that thought following close behind. The agent had been so engrossed in his own inner battle that he hadn't been paying attention and now it seemed his distraction had not gone unnoticed. "Sorry," he took a sip from his glass and shifted in his stool to ensure his distraction was blocked by Rossi's body, "what were you saying, David?"

"Doesn't matter," Rossi waved it off, clearly having sniffed out something potentially far more interesting, "I'm far more intrigued to know what's holding your interest."

"Nothing," Hotch made the cutting declaration, wanting to stop the conversation before it really got started. Then, deciding that that alone was too obvious an attempt at hiding something, added, "I just trying to recognize the song playing," he smiled a little, "I think it's from the 80s, I can't believe they even play it anymore."

Rossi laughed, "That the story you're going with, Aaron?" He smirked, "You know it's not a travesty to enjoy the sight of a woman dancing, even if she is your subordinate."

This was something Hotch alternatively admired and hated about his colleague…he was near fearless when it came to speaking his mind. Whether speaking to a superior, an UNSUB, or (god help the team) the press Rossi said exactly what was on his mind even if it pissed the other party off. At the moment, however, Hotch failed to see the benefit and scowled, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you should go for it." Rossi ignored Hotch's feigned ignorance.

"Leave it alone," Hotch nearly growled out before taking a breath to regain control of his emotions and, in case that didn't work, he took another sip of his drink before speaking again. "David…I can't. The fact I'm her superior alone makes it impossible."

"No, it makes it tricky. Tricky isn't impossible." Rossi took a swig of his beer and looked at his friend a moment before deciding to go for dramatics (always a personal favorite for him), "I'm not saying you should go jump into some matrimonial mattress activities with her-"

"Jesus, David!"

"But maybe you should just keep your mind open and see what happens."

"I'm…still trying to get back to normal, David, I don't think I should further complicate things by entertaining some…fantasy crush." Unlike the others (save for Gideon when he was on the team perhaps) Hotch always viewed Rossi more like an equal – Rossi's experience, his seniority in age, and overall strong personality all contributed to that – and so felt a little freer opening up on more personal topics.

"On the contrary, Aaron, it's exactly what you should do," Rossi countered with a surprisingly serious tone, "because you're not trying to get back to normal, normal is gone, what you're trying to do is move on."

"To a complex relationship that could severely damage both my and Emily's standing in the Bureau?" Hotch shook his head, "No, I won't do that to her."

"Ever thought that, maybe, it's not completely up to you? Or that maybe she'd even want you to take that risk?" Rossi suggested to what was fast becoming an almost annoyingly determined Hotch. The elder agent decided to switch tactics again and sighed, "Well, do you think you could at least let her know you're not upset with her?"

The last part caught Hotch off guard. "Upset with her?" His mind quickly began to race… "Why would she think I was upset with her?"

Rossi smirked some, "Because over the past few months you two have grown close, been like best friends, but, today, suddenly, your whole attitude has changed. You made sure Prentiss followed you around the whole case, but barely looked at her much of the time unless it was to scowl. You haven't behaved this way towards a fellow agent since Jordan and that was because you didn't trust her." When Hotch began to frown some Rossi gave a soft smile, "You're a great team leader, Hotch, and I know that you wouldn't want anyone to think you were anything but a complete professional…but you can't start actively caring for someone less out of fear people will think you care for them more." Hotch could take the statement any way he liked or discount it altogether, either way Rossi wasn't going to say anything else on the subject matter….at least not now as he went to sip his drink and saw Morgan heading over to them out of the corner of his eye.

"I tell you what, these Wyoming women know how to move," Morgan commented with a chuckle, signaling to the bartender he wished to order as he went to sit beside Rossi.

"Where's Prentiss?" Hotch inquired with a serious enough expression that he seemed to throw Morgan off his game.

"Emily? Uh…still on the dance floor I think," Morgan replied throwing Hotch a confused look and Rossi a curious one. The case was over, normally by now even Hotch had relaxed into first names and faint smiles. "But I'd hurry, she said something about turning in early so she might've decided to bolt."

"Thank you," Hotch replied simply as he got up from his chair to go find her. He had to speak with her, to set things right and let her know any aberrant behavior was an issue of his and hadn't really anything to do with her…well, at least, she wasn't the direct cause. He found her at a table by the dance floor, one knee up on a booth as she was hunched over it seemingly looking for something in her bag. "Emily?" He asked tentatively as he came to her side and set his hand on her shoulder to get her attention in case she couldn't hear him over the music.

"God!" Emily nearly fell back into the table itself at the unexpected touch. She placed a hand over her heart as if to reassure and calm it as she gave a small, unsteady, laugh, "Jeez, Hotch, you sure have some stealth moves when you want, don't you?" She continued her nervous laugh, though now it was from not being completely sure how Hotch would take the tease. Almost any other day she'd be confident in his response…but not today.

Hotch smiled and Emily took a silent sigh of relief. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he apologized quickly before suddenly discovering he didn't actually know what to say next. He smiled a little again, then his eyes darted to her purse on the bench and back to her, "You're leaving?"

Emily glanced at her bag a moment and then turned back to Hotch and nodded some, "Yeah, I figured I'd get out of here. I, uh…I'm not exactly…" feeling welcome was what she felt like saying. Not by the team but by him as she was still trying to figure out what she'd done to cause his behavior towards her to change and grow so…strange. "feeling well. I just don't think I'd be much fun for anyone right now."

"I'm sorry." Hotch stated simply.

"It's fine, I'm sure after a good night's sleep I'll be just fine." Emily waved it off, assuming Hotch was responding to her cover about not feeling well. She then grabbed her purse and moved to go around Hotch, "I'll just let JJ know she'll need to grab a ride from you guys."

Hotch side-stepped in front of Emily, stopping her progress, "I meant for my behavior towards you for the past few days. It's nothing you did, I assure you it…it's me…my own issues."

Emily had been taken aback by Hotch's move to block her and, as he spoke, her brows furrowed slightly before they arched some, "Are they issues with me?" She just wanted so badly to understand and, if possible, help her friend and colleague.

"No," Hotch answered quickly, only to add slowly, "Yes…sort of…it…It's somewhat hard to explain."

"Try." It was an order, but a gentle one like when Emily had requested Hotch attend his own birthday party.

Hotch stood there a moment unsure where to begin and uncomfortable at what this conversation could potentially involve. But as he watched insecurity and worry creep over Emily's face, a face that so frequently brought him comfort and happiness now, he realized he couldn't leave things as they were. It would be bad – bad for team morale, bad for whatever relationship it was he and Emily had, and possibly even bad for his determination to move forward with his life. "Can we sit down?" He asked, directing her to the booth she'd just been at, sitting where her purse had previously been.

Emily nodded and sat opposite him with a patient smile.

When Hotch left Morgan immediately moved to take over his seat and began to chat with Rossi about a number of different things…though not Hotch. Something about his boss's behavior told him it was better not to bring the man up at all to anyone. He did occasionally glance over Rossi's shoulder to see him and Emily sitting and talking to start, but lost interest after awhile. It wasn't until there was a lull in the conversation thanks to Rossi requesting a new round of drinks for them both that Morgan glanced to the booth the team members had been at. When they weren't there Morgan scanned the room, then smirked before laughing a little when he spotted them.

"What?" Rossi looked at the younger man distractedly as he split his attention between the drinks and his amused colleague.

"Hotch's got some moves…well, kinda," he cracked before nodding to the sight behind his fellow agent.

Rossi turned to discreetly take a peek at what so amused Morgan…when he saw he understood some. In the far off corner of the dance floor, a spot he was fairly certain the two felt confident they wouldn't be seen, Emily and Hotch were dancing. It wasn't anything graphic or overly romantic but it was clear they were moving smoothly, comfortably, as a couple to the rhythm of the song. Rossi smiled a little to himself, happy that his friend might actually be moving on completely.


End file.
